


For A Day

by AndreaDTX



Series: What's Your Fantasy? [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Breathplay, Cock Warming, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Power Play, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: Sam's wants to be in charge for the day.Lightly connected to One Job and The Birthday Wish, but intended to be read as a STAND ALONE.





	For A Day

**Author's Note:**

> A little nervous about this one. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS! Seriously.
> 
> A/N: After constructive criticism and a month or two to think it over, I lightened the tone of this piece a bit. Sam came across a bit more jerk-ish than I intended and I think it really colored the piece in a way I didn't expect. Nevertheless, it's still not a light and fluffy piece so tread lightly.
> 
> As I've said before comments make me feel less like I'm shouting freaky shit into the abyss. Kudos and comments welcome!

“It’s my turn.”

The suddenness of the voice probably would’ve startled Dean if he hadn’t clocked Sam’s presence even as he was sleeping. His subconscious is always keeping tabs on what Sam’s doing if he’s anywhere nearby and wondering what he’s up to when he’s not.

Shifting from sleep to wakefulness, Dean rubs at his eyes, yawning as he wipes away the remnants of sleep. He clears his throat and looks at his brother who’s already dressed save for the ugly burnt orange jacket he usually favors. “Your turn?”

“To pick what we do. You ready to play?”

About a month ago, Dean had talked Sam into playing out one of Dean’s fantasies of being overwhelmed despite his objections and basically having his brains fucked out. Sam had completely nailed it and him and ever since they’ve had a mutual, unspoken agreement of trading off, fantasy for fantasy. It was weird and they'd never be able to explain it to anyone else in a million years, but it worked for them. Getting to explore all the fun but kinky shit roaming the corners of their minds balanced all the fucked-up shit they experienced on the hunt. And it included guaranteed orgasms. Can't forget the bone-melting, brain-frying orgasms.

“It’s not your turn,” Dean mumbled through a yawn, scratching a hand through his hair. “If I recall correctly, you nearly made me nut my brains out with a coupla fleshlights a few weeks back.”

Sam frowns. “Yeah, but we’ve had sex since then. A bunch.”

“‘Cause we both got horny. A bunch. But it was regular fucking, not some big ‘wouldn’t it be hot if’” Dean points out, borrowing Sam’s exact description of the aforementioned experience.

Sam’s face drops into a pout. “Oh... So that means I have to wait?”

 “Or trade in your next turn,” Dean shrugs.

Sam thinks, obviously weighing the pros and cons.

“ _Or_ I’d be willing to forfeit my turn if I can ask for something really out there next time,” Dean offers.

“Does ‘out there’ mean trying to convince me to do something I’ve already said is a hard no?” Sam asks.

“Nah. But it might not be something you’d come up with on your own.”

Sam hesitates a moment, mouth scrunched up thoughtfully, before his face splits into a grin. “Deal.”

Dean chuckles at his enthusiasm. “Got something really good in mind, huh?”

Which is probably true. Sam gets off on controlling every aspect of Dean’s experience, but that freaky little brain of his has pushed Dean to the point of literally crying, screaming (of the manly kind of course), or nearly passing out from the overwhelming pleasure and the accompanying endorphin rush more than once, so Dean’s absolutely game.

He sits up, pushing aside his covers, pulling his legs over the side of the bed. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“Strip. Everything off.”

Dean rolls his eyes, his lips tilting into a playful smirk. “Why is that _always_ your first instruction?”

“Because you’re hot and I like looking at you naked,” Sam says with a perfectly straight face.

_Well, then…_

Dean blushes, but plays it off. Standing, he pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it on the bed. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and underwear, he pushes them down to drop to the floor and steps out of them, using his toes to grab at them and kick them up to join his shirt.

“Okay, now what?” he asks, crossing his arms, pretending his morning wood—which is honestly equal parts full bladder and anticipatory arousal—isn’t saluting the flag.

"So perfect..." Sam’s eyes roam over him, head to toe and back again. “I want you to stay like this, naked, all day, sun up to sun down, and just follow my lead.”

Dean frowns, starting to shake his head. “You’re not planning to lead me outside, are you? This might be the middle of nowhere, but exhibition’s still a solid no for me.”

“Nah, we’ll stay in the bunker all day, I swear. I just think it would be really hot if I could look over and see you like this, the whole day through.”

Sam’s eyes are full of _pleasepleaseplease_ and Dean’s a complete sucker for it.

“Fine,” Dean says. “Not like I’ve ever been shy. Following your lead. Although, I would strongly recommend the first place you lead me be the bathroom.”

Sam nods and heads out the door followed by Dean, who’s oddly aware of the contrast of Sam’s boots thudding on the floor in comparison to the softer thwack of Dean’s bare feet. The soft wisps of air brushing against his bare skin as he moves give him a tingle of vulnerability that makes him shiver, but he knows that he's perfectly safe in the bunker and Sam would never let anything bad happen to him. Here, he can relax and enjoy the feeling of taboo.

Sam leads him down the hall to the closest bathroom. Dean’s a little surprised when Sam actually steps in but he follows behind any way. 

With a hand on Dean’s shoulder, Sam guides him to the toilet, then snugs right behind Dean, clothes rasping against Dean’s bare skin. Sam nearly plasters to his back and wraps a hand around Dean’s cock, aiming it at the toilet bowl.

“Go ahead.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, voice cracking, forcing him to stop and clear his throat. “I, uh, I can do this myself. I’ve had this under control for years. Decades actually.”

“I know. But it’s my turn and this is the way I want you to do it today.”

Dean nods and falls silent, instead focusing on controlling his breathing. They stand there, waiting. Peeing first thing in the morning is already a challenge because of morning wood, but Sam behind him, holding his cock, however benignly, makes it even more so.

He eventually talks his body into calming down and peeing, his skin simultaneously trying to blush with shyness and flush with relief afterwards as Sam shakes off the last few drops, kisses his neck, and tells him what a great job he did. It's ridiculous, praising him for taking care of a basic biological need, but Dean basks in the praise any way.

Sam washes his hands and then grabs Dean’s toothbrush, lining it with toothpaste.

It’s messy. Dean could’ve told Sam from experience that trying to brush someone else’s teeth for them is nowhere near as easy as brushing your own. Sam eventually figures it out, realizing that much like with the toilet, brushing’s easier if he’s standing behind Dean. Sam’s thorough, maybe too thorough as he nearly triggers Dean’s gag reflex as he brushes Dean’s tongue.

"Easy tiger," Dean chides once he stops coughing and laughing. Sam ducks his head and smiles bashfully.

They don’t bother with floss, Sam handing him a cap full of mouthwash with instead. Dean gargles, swishes, and spits. Sam grins, apparently ridiculously easy to please in this game.

“Alright, breakfast time.”

Dean follows Sam to the kitchen. Being nude where they eat is weird, but it is what it is. Besides, it’s more or less his space. 'In control' or not, Sam’s hopeless in the kitchen beyond throwing together a salad or a sandwich. Sam instead orders Dean to make breakfast, turkey bacon and scrambled egg whites for them both and oatmeal for Sam.

He lifts an eyebrow when Dean reaches for an apron.

“Getting popped on bare skin by sizzling hot bacon grease would take a lot of the fun out of this,” Dean points out with a soft laugh.

Sam gives him an indulgent look before settling in to watch him cook, leaning on the island behind Dean. Dean fights a flush as he realizes that wearing the apron’s a lot like wearing ass-less chaps and nothing else. Deciding he has nothing to be embarrassed about, he focuses on breakfast instead.

“Put it all on one,” Sam instructs as Dean pulls out two place settings. Sam disappears for a brief moment as Dean’s plating the food and comes back with a big cushion.

“Let’s go.”

Dean hangs up his apron and follows him, carrying the plate of food, utensils, and a glass of OJ out to the dining room.

Sam drops the cushion on the floor next to the chair at the head of the table.

“Kneel.”

Dean sets the plate and cup on the table and, after a moment’s hesitation, he drops to his knees on the pillow and settles on his haunches.

Now towering over him, Sam studies him, using his feet to nudge Dean’s knees apart before rubbing fingers through Dean’s hair in approval. “Perfect.”

It feels... odd. But not necessarily uncomfortable. Dean waits quietly while Sam takes a seat and rotates the plate a few times before deciding where to start. He tears a strip of bacon in half and offers it to Dean. Dean reaches out to take it, but Sam pulls it back out of range.

“No.”

Dean drops his hand, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, thinking a moment before he realizes what Sam wants. Slowly, he drops his mouth open.

Sam slides the bacon on to his tongue. Once Dean has chewed it, Sam offers a forkful of eggs, followed by some juice.

It's different and even though it's supposed to be a submissive gesture, it almost makes him feel... pampered?

It continues, in rotation, bite by bite, sip by sip, until Dean, full, refuses the next offering. Sam leaves him kneeling there while he finishes the plate and the bowl of oatmeal he hadn’t offered Dean knowing his brother wouldn’t eat any of it.

When Sam’s done, he slides his chair back and stands. He extends a hand to Dean, helping him up, before handing him their breakfast dishes and pressing a soft kiss to Dean's forehead.

“You go ahead and clean up. I'll be back in a minute,” Sam says before exiting the room, leaving Dean cradling an empty plate, bowl, and cup. The calm bubble Dean had slipped into while Sam fed him pops abruptly, leaving him a little off-balance.

Shrugging it off, Dean goes into the kitchen and runs dish water, dumping in the place setting and the pot and pan he’d cooked with. A quick job.

He’s nearly done when Sam comes back in, lips attempting a poker face, but his eyes full of excitement, his hands tucked behind him, hiding something. He walks up to stand right behind Dean, making all the muscles in Dean’s back tense with awareness. Sam puts a medium-sized butt plug on the counter next to the sink just within the edges of Dean's peripheral vision. Not sure if he should acknowledge the item, Dean works hard not to react, staying on task, ignoring the way his heart beat is speeding up.

“Keep washing,” Sam orders as he kicks Dean’s feet apart and pulls his hips back just a little bit.

Dean keeps cleaning, doing an okay job of scrubbing the oatmeal pot, but stutters to a stop, brillo pad biting into his hand, when Sam nudges a finger forcefully against the closed entrance to his body. He keeps pressing until a grunt falls out of Dean as the single lubed finger slides in all the way to the webbing. Dean hisses and lets the pot clank to the bottom of the sink, his body clenching around the sudden, burning intrusion.

That finger is all the prep he gets and the next thing he knows it’s gone and Sam’s gripping him painfully tight around the hips, his cock pushing into Dean, impossibly big and thick and long. Dean bears down, grunting and groaning, straining to let Sam in. It’s not easy. He sobs out a breath when he finally feels Sam’s hips settle against his ass. This is usually where Sam would give him a momentum to adjust, to catch his breath. Not today. Instead, he sets a quick and brutal rhythm that makes Dean’s eyes water and quickly has him gasping for breath.

He slams into Dean, over and over, the stroke rough, but the angle perfect, each forceful push in hitting that perfect spot inside of Dean. His nerves light up like the eastern seaboard. He desperately wants to reach down to stroke himself, but his hands are busy, one braced against the wall behind the sink the other death gripping the edge of the basin, bracing himself for fear that Sam’s forceful rhythm will ram his face into the tile backdrop or dip him down into the sink.

Despite missing the direct contact of a hand, the aggressive rhythm’s still pushing all of Dean’s buttons, making heat sizzle up and down his spine.

“Sam… I’m gonna…”

“Don’t you dare,” Sam hisses. “I didn’t say you could.”

The steel bite behind the words is like a sharp smack, a dare, burning through him, egging him on.

But he grits his teeth, gasping for breath, pushing back his own need to release. This is Sam’s fantasy. He can give him this.

Sam doesn’t make it easy, pumping hard into him, grinding on that spot that makes Dean want to howl, his fingers and toes curling. The need is bubbling and burning and he’s barely hanging on. It’s a relief when Sam finally stiffens behind him, the constant rhythm of his hips breaking down into something far more sloppy and erratic. He growls and his hips slam into Dean and freeze. He bites down on the shell of Dean’s far harder than Dean can handle.

“Easy, Tyson!”

Sam hums harshly, but eases his grip even as his hips start back up, thrusting through his aftershocks, gradually slowing until he stops, slumped over Dean whose arms are straining on the edge of the sink to keep Sam’s lax weight from giving him an unexpected bath, even has his own body is demanding completion. He mewls when he feels Sam's hand grip him, giving him the friction he's so desperately need. Sam's touch is rough with only the small bit of slick Dean's body can naturally make, but in this moment it's perfect. Dean hunches into the touch, rutting, desperate to finish before Sam softens and slips from his body. Dean keens in relief when the tension reaches its boiling point and bubbles over. Gasping, he sags back against Sam who holds him, stroking and tugging until Dean whines with sensitivity before releasing him.

Sam eventually straightens, the motion letting his already softening cock slide all the way out, the withdrawal yanking a hiss from Dean. But before he even has time to feel empty Sam’s pushing something else, small and firm into his body. The plug. Dean moans, clenching around the new intrusion. He groan as Sam pulls him up, forcing him to stand straight.

Sam takes the opportunity to stroke Dean's soft cock once more, making him twitch with sensitivity, and whine softly when his body clamps down in reflex around the plug.

“Finish the dishes. Meet me in the library.”

Once he’s alone, Dean shivers long and hard, taking a minute to steady himself and catch his breath, but then obediently grabs the wool scrubber and picks the oatmeal pot back up, making a mental note that cleaning the kitchen now includes wiping down the lower cabinet doors.

In the library, Sam’s researching something or other and makes Dean help. Or he tries to make Dean help, putting books in front of him. And it works for the first ten minutes or so. But then Dean starts getting distracted by the pulsing of his hardening cock, egged on by the nearly involuntary rhythmic clench-and-release of his softly throbbing hole around the plug, by the weird, waxy feel of the polished wood veneer against his unclothed thighs, by the air drafting across his bare back. A quick glance at the wall clock tells him they’ve been sitting for an hour but Dean can’t remember a word he’s read. Hell, he's not even sure what language any of these books were in.

“Go get your pillow from the kitchen.”

Sam’s voice startles him, but he manages not to jump. He doesn’t question the order and is back in less than a minute.

Sam takes the pillow from him, pushes his chair back, and drops it to the floor between his feet.

“Kneel.”

When Dean’s once again settled on the pillow, Sam undoes his pants and pulls out his cock. Dean whimpers but manages not to lick his lips, staring at Sam’s soft but still very tempting dick. Gripping himself in one hand, he palms Dean’s skull with the other.

“Open,” he commands, softly teasing the head of his dick along Dean’s lips.

Dean groans and obeys, using suction to draw Sam in until his lips are flush with the root. He half wonders if Sam came up with this based on Dean’s last turn, but it’s unlikely. Sam had been way too out of it. It doesn't stop a thrill from racing up Dean's spine and back.

Sam tastes a little soapy like he made a stop by the bathroom to clean up while Dean was finishing in the kitchen. It's bitter but not unbearable and quickly gives way to Sam's natural, saltier taste. Dean’s mouth molds around the girth and he lets his hands settle in his lap, his forehead rest against the firmness of Sam’s belly, the short hairs under Sam's belly button tickling Dean's forehead as he relaxes.

Sam stays soft, not surprising so soon after nearly fucking Dean through the kitchen counter, but even so, he’s long enough that Dean has to really focus to be able to take full breaths without pulling off. Sam runs his fingers through the hairs at the nape of Dean's neck, the rhythm soothing and hypnotizing, Sam making soft shushing noises as his fingers moved.

“I want you to stay just like this until I tell you otherwise.”

Dean hums in agreement. He shuts his eyes and Sam goes back to reading.

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been there when Sam starts hardening, the gorge of blood making him lengthen and push further down Dean’s throat. Dean’s head is fuzzy and his limbs feel heavy and numb. He whimpers softly, distress coloring the sound.

Sam shushes him, his thumb gliding over Dean's ear and landing on his cheek, rubbing in gentle circles, a comforting motion. “Just stay relaxed. You’re fine. You can do this.”

By the time he’s completely hard, Sam’s fully down his throat and it takes everything Dean has to focus and not fight the intrusion. Blackness is dancing around the edge of his vision by the Sam tugs him up enough that his length’s resting against Dean’s tongue rather than gagging him. Dean gasps for air around the few inches that are still filling his mouth, relishing the soft scratch and tug of Sam's fingers through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. He gulps in oxygen, marveling in the feel of his head spinning. 

Just as his breathing evens out, Sam pushes back in. He stays there, lodged, and Dean swallows compulsively around him until his chest is tight and burning and he’s seconds from considering triple tapping Sam’s thigh, their non-verbal distress signal. But somehow Sam anticipates it and lets him up for air. Sam keeps the back and forth, in and out, breathing and not routine going until Dean’s head is beyond woozy and his entire body is shivering in what feels like tiny teases of orgasm but not quite, the erection that had waned now back in full force.

When Sam finally pulls all the way out and lets him rest, Dean’s head slumps on his thigh, Sam’s hard cock still in his vision. Dean sits there, quietly, enjoying big, full breaths, his body floating, while Sam does some work on the table above Dean’s head. A soft, peaceful mechanical melody of tapping keys and turning pages.

“Let’s go,” Sam finally says, pushing his chair back, pulling Dean to his feet. Dean's a little shaky and the feeling of walking nude and hard across the bunker while his head feels like it’s bobbing along a foot above his body is all at once odd and exposing and exhilarating.

Sam takes him into the film room. Sam long ago replaced the original projector with a more modern version that can stream from apps and the internet. He fires it up and the bright blue of the warm up screen paints the room.

Sam takes a seat but stops Dean from immediately dropping beside him. Instead, he ushers Dean in front of him and spreads Dean’s cheeks to gently tug the plug from his body. Dean moans at the loss and the slow feel of Sam’s spend dripping out. Sam’s thumb swipes it up and pushes it back in, a filthy, dirty, sexy sensation.

“Beautiful,” Sam whispers, before maneuvering Dean to sit on his lap, leaned forward, hands braced on Sam’s knees. The distinctive snick of a lube cap breaks the silence, followed by the soft sound of skin being slicked. Then Sam is pushing in.

Dean groans, the push tight. Sam fucked him open earlier but they hadn't spent a lot of time prepping and his walls have since tightened to fit around the smaller girth of the plug. Dean works to let Sam back in, pushing down until Sam’s hips are once again flush against him.

Sam pulls Dean against his chest, encouraging him to relax. As best he can in the situation any way.

“I put together a surprise for you," Sam teases with a nip to Dean's ear. "Watch.”

He taps a button on his laptop and both screens pop to life. It only takes the first two clips for Dean to realize Sam has spliced together a roll of porn clips Dean favorited on the computer. He’s watched these over and over again for how kinky they were and how hard watching them made him cum. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one distracted in the library.

“You like it?” Sam whispers.

Dean swallows hard to keep from moaning. “Yeah.”

Sam wraps his hand around Dean’s cock, stroking him slowly but firmly, as he points out what he likes best about each clip. He even asks Dean’s opinion and seems to actually expects an answer.

Dean blinks, trying to get his brain to reconnect, a monumental task with Sam grinding his thumb across the slit of his cock like that. It feels like he’s been hard for hours even though he'd gotten off barely an hour ago. “Uh… I like… I thought it was hot the way he holds him down and makes it so he has to take it. You can... can tell the guy gets off on the helplessness.”

Sam’s hand strokes harder and he thrusts up into Dean, making Dean shudder. Every time Dean tries to sit up to help with the motions, Sam pulls him back, in his own way holding Dean down and making him take it.

By the fifth clip, Dean is feeling all the warning signs. He’s moaning and writhing, thrusting into Sam’s fist, circling and grinding his hips the best he can. He’s clenching around Sam and starting think he could cum just like this.

Sam must’ve been thinking the same thing. “You're not thinking of cumming before I say you can, are you?”

“Sam, please,” he begs desperately.

“Not yet.”

“But I need to—“

Sam grabs him literally by the balls, a firm grip just the right side of painful.

“It'll be so much better if you wait. Don't I always make it good?" Sam teases.

Dean shudders and whimpers, nodding in agreement even as he slumps with a frustrated sigh.

“There you go,” Sam says and lets go, kissing him on the forehead. Then he grips Dean’s hips tight and goes to town. Just because Dean isn’t allowed to cum doesn’t mean Sam can’t. Dean squeezes his eyes closed as the men on the screen moan, flesh slapping, eerily in synch with Sam’s movements. Moments later Sam’s hips punch up and he jerks through his finish. Dean can feel the heat of his release inside and his own cock jerks in envy. He groans pitifully, but fights to hold off knowing Sam will absolutely make it worth his while.

Once he’s caught his breath, Sam leans him forward, his own soft dick sliding out of Dean, quickly replaced by the re-lubed plug. Sam pushes him to his feet.

“Lunch time,” Sam says cheerfully, as though Dean’s not a wobbly, quivering, edged out mess.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

Dean sticks out his tongue which Sam playfully pretends to taking a diving nip of, making Dean giggle (the manly version, of course.)

Nevertheless, Dean is shaky and doesn’t trust himself with sharp utensils so they end up with chips and sandwiches. Sam feeds him just like at breakfast, rambling on about details from the research he read earlier. Dean nods every few seconds, throwing in the occasional ‘uh-huh’ and mechanically chews at the food he can barely taste for all the adrenaline and unsated arousal flooding through his system.

After eating, Sam decides it’s time for a bathroom break. Dean doesn’t need to go, so Sam goes in alone. He makes Dean wait outside with his arms behind his back, eyes closed, forehead against the wall. It’s disconcerting, a door between them for the first time since he woke up and Dean doesn't really like how it makes him feel.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks softly when Sam comes out.

Sam frowns, then kisses him on the cheek, pulling him away from the wall and into a hug. “No! Absolutely not! You’re being perfect. I just didn’t want you to see or experience anything without me.”

Dean's mood lightens instantly. "Okay."

The day passes with them roaming around the bunker, doing 'Sam stuff'. Working on filing in the archives, transferring hunting notes jotted on the back of store receipts and diner napkins into Sam’s database, and basically being big, giant nerds. It so easy to fall into the rhythm, Dean sometimes actually forgets he’s naked until he looks up and sees Sam staring at him appreciatively and it brings his nudity flying back to the forefront of is mind.

And Sam's a gigantic cock tease. Randomly throughout the day, he pulls Dean into a tight hug, back to front and dry humps him for a long minute, leaving Dean clutching at Sam's arms around him. Or he drops one hand low and pulls and rubs working Dean from half mast to straining, hand sliding and stroking until Dean’s whining and bucking into the touch. Once, he even pins Dean against a wall, wrapping Dean’s legs around his waist, grinding against him, his clothes giving Dean the perfect friction with no end in sight. Just as Dean gasps and his eyes roll back in his head, his breath signaling that he’s reaching the point of no return, promises or no, Sam lets his legs slide down and turns back to what he was doing, leaving Dean’s knees buckling. He nearly hits the floor before he can pull it back together. 

"Sam, you're the worst," Dean mutters not even trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

"You mispronounced 'best.'"

By dinner, Dean’s a jittery mess. He makes a big salad with random vegetables from the fridge, a choice that’s met with raised eyebrows since they’re sharing, but Dean shrugs it off. He only eats a few bites before he begs off of dinner any way. He's ready for his reward  _now._

Sam studies him as he finishes his half of the salad.

“My room,” he says when he’s done, not even bothering to make Dean clean up their meal.

Once there, Sam quickly strips and then arranges Dean on the bed, face up, fingers wrapped around the bottom of the headboard. Dean wiggles with anticipation and lets Sam spread his knees to opposite sides of the bed, leaving him wide open to whatever Sam wants.

And apparently, Sam wants to drive him insane.

Sam picks random spots to focus on. Spots that wouldn’t even register with Dean if he wasn’t already so wound up. Sam sucks one of Dean’s earlobes into his mouth, laving and nipping at it, all the while rasping the slicked up pad of his index finger right where the head and shaft of Dean's cock meet, that special place, so sensitive touch, that always revs Dean's engine. The touch is so light it almost tickles. But the visual of Sam’s finger with the sensation at his ear makes his brain cross wires and he’d swear the sucking feels much lower.

Sam sucks and rubs until Dean’s hips jerk and his cock gives up a rivulet of pre-cum. Sam hums, pleased, and lets go of his ear, shifting to a position that gives him better access to Dean’s cock. Locking eyes with Dean, Sam sticks out his tongue and leans in to lap at the spill, the flat of his tongue following it from its final resting place back to the source, but he’s painstakingly careful not to suck. Once he’s satisfied, he swallows and moans like he’s tasted the best thing in the world.

He crawls up Dean’s body and kisses him, a hard, plundering kiss, pushing his tongue in and around the inside of Dean’s mouth. Dean groans, able to taste what has to be his own bitterness. He's not sure what he thinks of it, but it’s not enough to make him break the kiss. Dean desperately want this contact.

His acquiescence makes Sam moan raggedly.

Sam does it again and again, his mouth roaming all over Dean’s body. The other earlobe, his Adam’s apple, both nipples, his belly button, suckling and worrying each bit of flesh until that coveted bead of reaction wells out of him, which Sam then eagerly licks up before kissing traces of Dean’s essence into his mouth which Dean decides is filthy hot.

Eventually, the teasing touches, the breath-stealing kisses fray the last of Dean’s reserve. He pulls away from Sam’s mouth, breaking their connection, and lets his head rock back against the mattress, trying to catch his breath, his hips hitching all the while.

“Sam… come on,” he begged, his voice strained and wrecked. “I’ve been good all day. I need… I need more.”

“Yeah. You have. Okay.” He kisses and licks his way down Dean’s body, making Dean twitch and moan as the heat of his mouth slides lower.

He gives a quick suck to the tip of Dean’s cock, seeking more of Dean’s taste, as Sam’s gigantor hands slide under Dean’s ass to cradle his hands and lift him to the angle Sam wants. Sam ducks his head down, licking around the edges of the plug, forcing his tug between the toy and the walls of Dean’s opening and Dean nearly screams.

He nudges around the toy teasingly, tongue pressing hard, sending shivers through Dean. Sam works the toy, small shoves in, lips and tongue working it back out, until Dean writhing and keening.

“Please… Please, Sam. I’ll do anything.”

Sam looks up, staring at him over the length of Dean’s body, eyes nearly glazed. “Anything?”

Dean nods shakily. “Yeah.”

“Even that thing we talked about?”

Dean’s breath catches and he convulses, making Sam smartly grab and squeeze the base of Dean’s cock.

They’ve been talking about fisting for nearly six months and Dean knew Sam wanted to try it, but he’s always assumed he’d be doing it to Sam during one of the rare times Sam needs him to take over. But given Sam’s issues with control it makes sense that he’d want to try it on Dean first.

 “Yeah,” he whispers.

Dean watches, heart pounding, as Sam smiles giddily, a brilliant smile with both dimples on display, and reaches for the lube.

Sam turns him on his stomach, face flush with the bed, ass in the air, and pulls the plug out of Dean’s body, a quick, definitive move that knocks the breath out of Dean. A tremble races down his spine when he feels the rough, moist swipe of Sam’s tongue traces over his hole, round and around, and he can’t help pushing back, offering himself for more. Sweet fuck. This was going to be spank material for the next fifty years. 

The first and second finger go in easily. It’s part of their usual play and Dean hums at the comfort of the familiar fullness. The third finger’s a bit more work. Not as big as Sam’s dick, but still not an easy stretch. On the fourth finger, Dean tenses and starts to resist. He wants it, but it's not easy to relax against such an intense stretch. Sam runs his free hand up and down Dean’s spine, whispering filthy, hot nothings, encouraging him to relax.

“Trying,” Dean grunts. “You have ginormous fingers.”

Sam rubs his fingers along Dean’s inner walls and Dean moans when he feels the knuckles of Sam’s fingers pressing against his rim. Dean huffs and shifts, searching for the pleasure he knows this can give him. After long minutes, the painful burn dulls and turns into the hot heat that makes him spread every time Sam asks and Dean goes from fighting it to pushing into it.

Dean’s shaking by the time Sam’s thumb rubs around his already over-taxed opening.

“You ready?”

Dean nods, nervous and not trusting his voice.

Sam tucks his thumb in and presses. Dean strains, trying, trying, trying…

“Yellow,” he finally gasps out.

Sam stops pushing immediately and slides his thumb out, but not the other digits. “Do you want me to pull all the way out?”

“No, no, don’t! I wanna... I wanna do this.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Dean shifts as best he can, his whole body throbbing, strung wire tight. “Can you… I think if you jacked me, it would… balance the pain, let me relax.”

Sam hesitates. “I wanna be inside you when you come. So we can cum together...”

That sounds so how Dean moans. “I know. I can… I can hold off. I just… I gotta have something else or I can’t do this.”

Sam leans down, kisses him, a sweet peck in contrast to everything else that is going on, and wraps a hand around Dean's cock, creating three points of contact. Dean throws himself into kiss, pulling Sam deeper, and focuses on the rapid tug of Sam’s hand on his cock, which has wilted from the intensity. He groans when the pressure from Sam’s thumb returns.

Push, push, push.

Dean’s entire body shimmers and shudders, caught between the pleasure gliding around his cock and the pressure straining his hole. He sucks frantically at Sam’s tongue.

He nearly screams into Sam’s mouth when his rim finally gives and Sam’s hand sinks inside, the terrible tension finally breaking. He jerks out of the kiss and gasps for air, groaning desperately as his muscles slowly relax and contract around the much smaller circumference of Sam’s wrist. The sudden relief is almost orgasmic and everything below his waist throbs in agreement.

Sam kisses up and down his spine, whispering over and over again how hot and amazing Dean is, how good he feels inside. He tips Dean, first on to his side, then urging him on to his back, contorting his body to let the hand he has inside follow Dean’s movements. Then, Dean finds himself keening as Sam’s hand slowly rotates inside of him to let Sam’s body straighten back out of his Twister-style contortion. Sam shushes him and rubs his belly soothingly.

“Lift,” Sam commands with a tap to Dean’s hips when Dean’s breathing finally calms.

Dean obeys and they both groan as his body clamps down around Sam’s hand. Sam barely has time to shove a pillow underneath before Dean collapses, muscles trembling in exhaustion. Sam lifts Dean’s leg, up and over, so he’s square between Dean’s splayed thighs.

“Look,” Sam says softly, motioning with his encased hand.

Dean’s gaze travels down his own body, breath sawing in and out, nerves misfiring and twitching, to the spot Sam indicated, where his hole is snugged around Sam’s wrist, throbbing and rippling around the intrusion.

The sight is more than he can take.

Dean’s body clamps down and he grunt-screams as a gale-force orgasm ripples through him, stronger than he’s ever felt, his muscles, pushed to the limit, spasming painfully, his cock jerking, the waves of pleasure rolling from the center of his body and radiating out. It intensifies when Sam’s free hand grips Dean’s cock, working the rigid flesh up and down, pushing Dean harder and harder, building the swamping sensations, until Dean can’t take it anymore and his grunting cracks into a full-throated roar, a gritty sound that strips his throat raw.

When Dean finally comes down, he collapses, boneless. He can feel the hot wetness of his own jizz where he spattered himself from throat to belly button. 

Sam’s watching him, breathing like he’s been running forever, his face flush and his pupils completely blown. Sam slowly but surely slides his hand out of Dean, pulling a soft, hurt whimper from Dean. Dean reflexively tries to turn on to his side, curl up, but Sam doesn’t let him.

"Almost, Dean. Almost..."

He keeps Dean spread, his gaze fiercely focused on Dean’s gaping hole. He grabs his own cock, working it furiously, a speed and intensity that’s probably just as painful as it is pleasurable. It doesn’t take long for Sam to follow Dean over the cliff.

He groans and twitches as cum spurts. Dean moans, feeling the heat of it as it lands in and around his stretched wide hole. Sam’s hand keeps going, nearly blurring as he strokes himself through, until he finally bellows out a deep, exhausted sigh.

Sam slouches on his haunches, weight resting on the hand he’d planted near Dean’s hip. He peels his hand from around his softening cock and ever so slowly reaches a finger out to touch Dean. Dean grunts when the slight touch of Sam’s finger against his loose rim sends a spark shuddering through his wrecked-out body. Sam keeps touching, softly, almost reverently. Then the touch becomes firmer, more fingers. Dean watches as Sam drags the strings of his spend from where they spilled and pushes them into Dean’s body, rubbing them in.

Dean groans, twitching away from both the visual and the touch. “Sam, I can’t.”

Sam looks up, completely awed. “I know. I’m not trying to make you. I’m just—“

He never finishes the thought. He pulls his fingers away and sighs. He gets up and goes to the bathroom, bringing back a wash cloth and a bowl of water. This is one of Dean’s favorite parts, though he’ll never admit it. He hums as Sam runs the wash cloth along his limbs, his hands and feet, over his chest and stomach. He whimpers and shifts as Sam cleans the now-drying cum off his spent cock. The cloth moves lower and Dean holds his breath.

“Relax,” Sam murmurs, as he rubs Dean’s belly with one hand while the other finishes his work. When he’s done, Sam folds the cloth and tosses it into the bowl. He works around Dean limp body to pull the soiled comforter to the food of the bed so they can both settle under the lighter blanket and sheets underneath. He’s settling into next to Dean who’s already half asleep when an alarm on his watch goes off, probably signaling sun down. Sam silences it, pressing soft kisses to the side of Dean's face, pulling him tight into a hug, little spoon to Sam's big spoon. Dean feels shattered and complete and completely fulfilled and totally wiped.

It's perfect. 

“Hm…” Sam hums softly. “Your turn.”


End file.
